


Bystander

by isa_belle



Category: If We Were Villains - M.L. Rio
Genre: Acting, M/M, Shakespeare Quotations, but it be like that sometimes, probably takes place around second or third year, this is not good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle
Summary: I feel myself slipping as soon as he parts his lips. It's rather embarrassing, being so shamelessly enamored, by him, by everything he does. But still, as James stands before us, arm outstretched, reaching for something he can't quite grasp, face bent with such emotion, words flowing from his mouth like water from a faucet, smooth, soft, cool-I don’t think my eyes could be anywhere else.
Relationships: James Farrow/Oliver Marks, James/Oliver
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Bystander

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I just finished this book and it was wonderful, and what I wrote does it no justice whatsoever. I very much don't like this, but I hope that you do :)

I feel myself slipping as soon as he parts his lips. It's rather embarrassing (or would have been had I been aware of it's happenings), being so shamelessly enamored, by him, by everything he does. But still, as James stands before us, arm outstretched, reaching for something he can't quite grasp, face bent with such _emotion_ , words flowing from his mouth like water from a faucet, smooth, soft, cool-I don’t think my eyes could be anywhere else.   
"Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,  
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!  
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?  
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.  
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love."  
James fits Romeo so perfectly it's almost jarring. So much I can hardly tell where one ends and the other begins. From his posture, to his tone, to his look, he's lost in the character, wandering around a head-space that is not his own but so nearly could be. He falls out of himself into new skin like it's nothing at all. That's obvious, even to me. But this isn't unusual, when James takes on a role he becomes what he's playing, stashes a bit of it next to his heart and carries it there. He's two people in one, or three people, or four, or four hundred, it doesn't matter. I just know that as he stumbles across the floor, lamenting his unrequited love, I'm hardly watching James at all, but Romeo in the body of my best friend, pulling the strings. James is a puppet, merely a host, an outlet from which words flow.  
"Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!  
O any thing, of nothing first create!  
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!  
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!  
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire  
sick health  
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!"  
Watching is face move is a little like watching a fire roar, it dances and changes and burns so bright I almost squint my eyes, but there's are part of me that doesn't want to, I'm completely enthralled, completely enchanted. This is how James makes people feel. He always has. He grabs your attention and for the life of you you cannot get it back.  
And then his eyes fall to me, and his brows drop and his jaw sticks and his hand falls away. He tips his chin in my direction. I'm not sure if he's looking at me or through me. His eyes stay on me though, the fogginess in them snapping to something clear as he delivers the next line, stumbling, almost, over the words.  
"This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?"  
The words send a flutter through me, like dominoes down my spine, a tsunami in the pit of my stomach. My cheeks burn but I can't understand why. James looks away and continues as though nothing happened, an I'm not sure that anything did. Not anything solid, anyway. But something did happen, it must have, or Alexander wouldn't be peering at me with that puzzled little glint in his eye or that slight sly smirk on the edge of his lips, and Richard wouldn't be glancing between James and me with hardened brows, vein popping just a bit. I tangle and untangle my fingers in my lap. James' voice rings out once more and I can do nothing but let my gaze magnetically snap back to him.  
"Why, such is love's transgression.  
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,  
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest  
With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown  
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own."  
I feel myself sway as he speaks, leaning forward just slightly. James falls out of step, ceases his pacing and stops once more.  
"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;  
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;  
Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:  
What is it else? a madness most discreet,  
A choking gall and a preserving sweet."  
We clap as he finishes, and I smile as the sadness on his face melts away and James, _real_ James, stands happily before me once more, dark hair, brown eyes, easy smile. He glances quickly at the people around him and starts straight for me, before Gwendolyn cuts him off, pushing him back for feedback with a flat palm on his chest. I laugh.  
She says something or other about keeping his pace, or maintaining a rhythm, but I hardly hear it at all, too busy watching James take in what she says. Alexander steps beside me.  
Alexander: He did well today.  
Meredith ( _slightly bitter_ ): He always does well  
Wren: Well of course, he’s a near perfect hero  
Richard: I wouldn't say Perfect.  
Wren: I didn’t. Near perfect.   
James shoots me a look over Gwendolyn's shoulder and I bite back a laugh.   
Filippa looks at us and shakes her head, mumbling something like " _A pair of star-cross'd lovers_ , indeed," that makes my cheeks flame, ruddy streaks of heat making me sweat.  
"What?"  
She smirks at me, "Never mind," she says. She glances and Richard, who crosses his arms, but I pay him no mind, as James is walking out way again. (This always seemed to be the case, the moment my eyes found him, everything else faded to nothing and we were just two.)  
“Hey.” He greets me with a nod. I smile at him. Richard scoffs.   
“Hell of a performance,” he says unpleasantly and jerks his head towards me with a vicious sort of smile twisting his lips. A dark look falls over Alexander’s eyes, and I see something flash in the pupils of Filippa’s. James looks at the floor, cheeks flushing slightly, before looking up and saying, “thank you,” rather crisply, and grabbing my arm with tight fingers and yanking me with him.   
I stumble after him, trying to regain my footing as he walks like wind out the door and down the hall, “Upstairs?” I say, as if I don’t already know the answer.   
“Of course.” He shoots me a small smile. “I can’t deal with him right now.”  
I nod, and try to match his pace as he rapidly matches up the stairs. He releases his grip on my forearm and slips his fingers around the doorknob.   
“You okay?” I ask, as he unceremoniously throws himself onto the nearest couch with a groan.  
“I will be.”  
“You did well today.” I repeat what Alex sad before, then kick off my shoes and sit down on the opposite side as him, (our legs tangle in the middle, my socked feet knocking his ankles.)   
He sighs, running his hands over his face and through his hair, tugging at the ends, “Richard didn’t think so.”  
I feel something like anger in the pit of my chest, blue flames burning low but growing, growing, growing, eating at my ribs and filling my lungs with smoke. I choke down a cough.   
“Richard is an asshole.”  
Something in James’ face changes, softens the corners of his eyes. He douses the fire easily  
“Yeah, he is.”  
“I don’t know what his problem is,” I say firmly, “you’re very good.”  
I say it just to see the blush rise to his cheeks, the soft smile. But I believe it too, I’ve seen James act, the possession. We all know that he’s good, he’s great. There’s no disputing it. He’s got a knack for catching your eye and keeping it. I kick his ankle and he laughs.   
“He’s just jealous! We all are.”   
He frowns at me, “why? You’ve got no reason to be.”  
I snort. “That’s rich.”  
His frown deepens, tugging his eyes down as they study my face. “No, really.”  
I shift, uncomfortable at the sudden but undeniable change, like someone flipped a switch. The slight awkwardness hangs in the silence in the air.   
“‘S fine, James. I don’t take it personally,” I shrug. And I don’t, not anymore. We all get typecast, I’m the sidekick, the extra, and that’s fine, and James is the hero (I don't think I minded so much _because_ James was the hero, and I could never fault him for that, or anything really). He deserves the spotlight and he can have it, he doesn’t have to drag me into the light. (though I can’t pretend there weren’t times when I really felt it, the insignificance of never really being anyone significant, anyone memorable.)   
James bites his lip and pulls his arms to his chest. His toes poke at my ankles.   
“You should. It’s not fair."  
"Is anything?" James lets out an indignant huff and I lighten, "I don't mind."   
"Yes, I know. That's the problem."  
I shove his feet away from mine, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I thought we were discussing how much of an as Richard is being."  
He shoves me back and shrugs, "Two birds, one stone."  
He grabs my hand and tugs himself rapidly forward, until he settles right next to me so that our knees knock and our shoulders rise and fall with each synchronized breath. "And anyway," he says, "that's old news. This is new."  
It's not and I tell him as much.  
"Then why haven't you spoken of it?"  
I feel my eyebrows pinch together. "I figured you knew, all the others do. Pip and I are practically twins when it comes to casting and you know it."  
"Sure, but I didn't know you get sulky about it."  
I scrunch up my face, "I don't get sulky about it."  
He shakes his head and breath puffs from his nose. He's clearly not content with any of my answers. He finds my eyes, "You shouldn't have to be the sidekick forever."  
I try not to get lost as he looks at me, and swallow, my throat feeling suddenly and unexplainably dry.   
"As long as your the hero."  
This is not the right thing to say, but it comes out anyways. He blinks and I watch his eyebrows brush his cheeks.  
"You'll have your day in the sun." He's certain, I can tell by the way he purses his lips when he's finished speaking, by the sort of vigor seeping into his words like paint. "One day, Oliver," he says, "You'll be the tragic hero." he relaxes a bit and I feel him slump against my shoulder, "and I will be your right hand man."  
I laugh, feeling warm for some reason, my chest expands with heat, making me a little breathless and my cheeks buzz, " _I would not wish any companion but you_."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking around through that shit-show. Anyway, comment if you enjoyed it, comments always make my day. Bye :)


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